You Can Make It Anywhere
by Rat-chan
Summary: Harry and Perry have started an intimate relationship, but serious issues from Harry's past keep interfering with their love life. Perry/Harry slash, obviously. Rating for language and sexual content.


This story was written for the following prompt (it may spoil the story just a bit, but I think the reader should know what they're in for):  
_Life in New York isn't easy, especially when you're a 19 year old idiot thief who just showed up from the midwest one day, and you haven't perfected the trade yet.  
Harry haltingly tells Perry that Perry isn't the first guy Harry's ever slept with - he's only the first guy that Harry's ever wanted to sleep with. Prostitution past, please!  
_******  
Disclaimer: **I love Harry & Perry all to pieces, but they don't belong to me and they don't make me any money.******  
Warnings: **language (duh); sexual content; references to prostitution, nonconsensual sexual situtations (coercion), and humiliation

* * *

"Perry," Harry moaned from below Perry, his hands clenching the silk sheets and his hips thrusting up from the bed. His whole body was flushed a pale crimson and his half-open eyes were hotly misted with desire. "Fuck me," those eyes were saying, though Harry himself seemed incapable at the moment of much coherent speech. "Unnn." The high moan was more from the nose than the throat and Perry's hand faltered in its stroking of Harry's erection as the sound seemed to reverberate in his own groin.

_God… now. _"You ready, Chief?" Perry leaned down and breathed the question in Harry's ear.

"Yes," Harry replied with a shiver. "Fuck, yes." But a slight frown creased the corners of his eyes and a small line of worry appeared between his brows.

_He's still nervous. _Perry was naturally less than pleased, but not surprised. _All the times we've been intimate... _"Relax," he whispered – to both Harry and himself. _It's still his first time for _this. Not the first time they had tried, though. "I'm going to roll you over now, Harry. It'll be easier that way."

Harry nodded weakly and allowed Perry's hands to maneuver him until he was face down on the bed with a pillow assisting his hips into the air. Perry felt the other man shudder slightly as he lay over him to reach into the nightstand and pull out a small bottle of lubricant. Perry shifted back, opened the bottle, coated the index finger of his right hand, and set the bottle aside. He moved his gaze back to Harry and froze.

Harry's eyes were clenched shut and his frown had deepened. His teeth gripped his lower lip and his knuckles were white from how tightly he now clenched the sheets. _He's bracing himself for pain, _Perry realized, with a touch of anger. "Harry, I'm not going to hurt you," he said, placing a hand on Harry's hip.

Harry flinched. Less than an inch, but it was there. _Doesn't he trust me at all?_ Hurt now joined the growing irritation. Harry looked more nervous – frightened – than ever. "Look, Harry, if you don't want to do this, just say so."

"That's not it," Harry protested, opening his eyes and craning his neck to turn them toward Perry. But his voice was weak and the emotion currently misting his gaze was not desire, "I want to." Tension still strained every muscle of his body, including the hip Perry still held.

"God damn it, Harry!" Perry moved away from Harry on the bed. "I'm not some lustful beast for Christ's sake. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do." Perry rose from the bed, preparing to go to the bathroom.

But he was stopped by a sweaty grip on his forearm. "That's not it!" Harry repeated more strongly. Perry tried to shrug him off, still not convinced. "Perry, wait!"

"No." Perry did not look at the other man as he wrenched his arm free and started for the bedroom door.

"Damn it, Perry. I want to! For the first time in my fucking life I actually _want_ to."

That stopped him. The phrasing of what Harry had just said slowly replaying itself in his brain. Perry turned back. "What?" He looked hard at Harry. "What do you mean?"

Harry's eyes went wide and his face dropped into an expression of vague horror. "N-n-nothing," he stammered out, scrambling off the bed. Perry moved to him and gripped his shoulders but Harry now refused to meet his eyes. "I didn't mean anything. Let me go."

"Not until you tell me what you meant." Harry weakly jerked against Perry's hold, but the larger man kept his grip firm. He pushed Harry down gently into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, then knelt down in front of him. "Harry, tell me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you ca—" Perry cut himself off, finally registering the emotion that was radiating out of Harry's eyes and slumped shoulders. _Shame. _The pieces started coming together. _He has a record – he's done time… _The fear, the expectation of pain… _Oh my god, _Perry felt nausea begin to curdle his stomach. "Harry," he whispered, softly gripping the other man's face. "Were you raped?"

Unexpectedly, Harry began laughing, but the sound did not reassure Perry. It was not the warm, hearty chuckle Harry would burst out with when sharing a joke. It was not the childish giggle that would leak out of him when he was really drunk. It was a harsh, choked out sound with no humor in it at all.

"Harry?" The corners of the other man's eyes were moist. "Harry, it's all right." He wiped at the moisture with his thumbs. "You know you can tell me anything."

"No," Harry whispered, no longer laughing. He tried to turn his face away, but Perry would not let him. "I can't tell you this… Not _this_."

_You'll hate me._ The words were not said, but they hung in the air between the two men.

Perry moved closer, his face directly beneath Harry's. "Harry, look… If you were raped, it wasn't your fault. You don't have to be ashamed of anything."

"_If_." With no other escape from his lover's gaze, Harry turned his eyes to the ceiling. "No, Perry. I have _so much_ to be ashamed of."

"Harry?"

There was another one of those hard, humorless laughs. "You know, for a detective, you're pretty slow on the uptake. I was so afraid that fucking blow job would give it away…"

Perry vaguely remembered the encounter Harry was referring to – they had both had quite a bit to drink. He recalled, though, that at the time he had been distantly surprised at how _good_ Harry had been.

He remembered more, however, how Harry had avoided him the next day. "Harry, whatever it is you're trying to tell me – just say it."

"Perry…" Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath and held it. "You're not… You're not the first man I've slept with." His voice was so soft, Perry had to strain to hear it even though mere inches separated them. Harry's eyes finally returned to Perry. "You're just the first man I've ever _wanted_ to sleep with." Fear, sadness, and love all looked down at Perry out of those eyes.

Without thought, Perry shifted forward to kiss his lover, but he was stopped by Harry's hands on his shoulders.

"You said I wasn't a punk. You have no idea how much those words – from you – meant to me." The gaze slid away again and a tear leaked slowly from one pain-filled brown eye to damp Perry's hand. "But they're not true. I am a fucking _punk_."

Perry had no idea how to respond. Understanding was coming to him, bit by bit, but his mind resisted it – did not want it.

Harry, though, apparently did not need a response. He continued in a dull distant tone. "I was so stupid. So naïve. Did I ever tell you why I went to New York?" He did not wait for an answer. "I wanted to be a magician. It was the only thing I was ever remotely good at. I sucked at school, so I quit. I sucked at the odd jobs I did, but I saved enough money to go to New York. The Big Apple, 'cause hey – if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere." Harry laughed again. There was humor in it this time, but Perry could hear the self-mockery. "I was such a fucking idiot. I thought I could work odd jobs and do street magic to get by until I was _discovered_. But in New York, who cares about some 19 year old idiot _hick_ from Embry, Indiana? They wouldn't care if I pulled the biggest fucking rabbit in the world out of my ass. You know about my record. I started to steal shit. It was so _easy, _at first. A little sleight of hand and, abraca-fucking-dabra, I had something to eat, or something to pawn for rent. But you know me. I fucked it up pretty quick." Harry closed his eyes, his frown deepening. "I didn't even think to look for a fucking camera until the shop owner came up to me…

"'Hey, boy,' he said, 'we've got cameras in this store.' I panicked and tried to run away, but the man grabbed me. 'Now, don't be so hasty,' he told me. 'Hasty?' Who the fuck says that? I don't remember what the asshole looked like, but I fucking remember how he said hasty. It made my skin crawl. And so did his hand on my hip. 'I'm sure we can make some arrangement.'" The voice Harry mimicked was pure sleaze – it made _Perry's_ skin crawl now, hearing the imitation. "He took me into the back room. 'How old are you?' I was too stupid to lie. '19. An adult. Well then, let's settle this like adults.' He was much too close to me. He put his hand in my pockets and pulled out the can of tuna I'd swiped and my pocketknife – all boys in Embry carry them. 'I can call the police and tell them you pulled this knife on me.' He put one hand on my shoulder and one hand on his belt. I had no fucking clue what was going on, but I was scared as shit. 'Or, you can do a little something for me. And, hey, I'll even let you pick out whatever you want from the store.' When he started taking off his belt, even _I _knew what that sick bastard wanted."

Perry felt sick again, horrified by what he was hearing. "My God, Harry…" He did not want to hear anymore.

But neither his spoken nor unspoken words seemed to reach Harry. "I'd had sex before, but no girl had liked me enough to give me a blow job. I had no fucking idea how it was supposed to work, but that asshole didn't seem to mind. I think the sick fuck actually enjoyed giving me instructions. When he came, he shoved his dick as far into my mouth as it would go. Bastard even watched me throw up on the floor. He threw me a dirty old towel and said 'When you've cleaned up, you can go.' He dropped that fucking can of tuna next to me. 'If you want your knife, though, I'm afraid you'll have to come back another time.' The only time I ever went back was three years later, with Richie." For the first time since Harry had started his narrative, a hint of positive emotion crept into his voice. He reopened his eyes and looked down at Perry with a thin smile of vindictive satisfaction. "We robbed that fucker blind."

In the silence that followed this, Perry struggled to find words. _If I ever get my hands on that son of a bitch… _But Harry needed him now. "Harry, that wasn't your fault. That was a kind of rape."

"I _agreed_ to it."

"You were a scared kid and he _coerced_ you! _He's_ the one who should damn well be ashamed."

"It wasn't the only time."

"What?"

"I told you: I was an unwanted magician, an unneeded worker, and a fucking lousy idiot thief. Even the oldest, foulest roach hotels in New York cost money."

"You mean—"

"Some guy came up to me in the park and offered me fifty bucks. I figured, what's the difference between one time or two? I was so fucking hungry."

The self-loathing filling Harry's voice sent a shaft of pain into Perry's chest. "Harry, you were a kid…"

"I was 19, Perry! I should've found another way. I took it up the ass for seventy-five dollars. I let some asshole piss on me for a hundred."

"Stop."

"None of this is on my fucking record because I let the cop who was gonna arrest me fuck me with his night stick!"

"Shut up!" The shout was wrung from Perry against his will. He had seen enough in West Hollywood. He knew the kind of men who often sought out male prostitutes. The only ones they hated more than themselves were the boys they fucked. "I don't want to hear any more." _I can't hear any more. _The thought of the things he had seen happening to _Harry _– to _his _Harry… Perry dropped his hands from Harry's face and gripped the back of his own head, his forearms pressed against his ears.

"You were the one who asked," Harry told him, no expression at all in his voice. Perry more felt than saw him stand up – there was something clouding his vision.

"Where are you going?" Perry asked when he noticed that Harry was leaving the room.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Maybe I'll stay with Harmony for a while. Until I can find a new job and a place to live."

"God! Harry, no!" Perry jumped to his feet and grabbed onto Harry. But he had been kneeling for too long and the sudden motion caused his head to spin. He lost his footing and both men tumbled to the carpet, Harry in Perry's arms. "Jesus, Harry, I'm sorry."

Harry started laughing – a high hysterical sound. "You're sorry," he laughed out, the sound becoming sharper. "_You're_ sorry." It was sounding more like sobs now. Perry was holding onto Harry's back, so he could not see the other man's face – just feel his shaking. "Why the fuck are _you_ sorry? You're not the one who's a whore."

"You're not a whore, Harry." Perry struggled up onto one elbow, then rolled Harry until the other man was on his back. Perry put his free hand on Harry's cheek. It was damp with tears. Harry moved his hands up to cover his face. "No, Harry. Don't hide from me." The hands did not move. "Harry, look at me," he commanded. The hands slowly slid away and red tear-filled eyes met Perry's. "You are not a punk and you are not a whore."

"I was."

"Harry, you did what you had to do to survive."

"I should have found another way," Harry repeated.

"You were a kid! No—" he cut off the protest before it could be voiced. "I don't give a flying fuck what the law says. A 19-year-old is still a fucking child." Harry's breathing began to quiet, but his eyes were still full of self-recrimination and pain. "I won't say I don't care what happened to you. Because I do. A bunch of fucking assholes hurt you and I am fucking _pissed_ that there's not a god damned thing that I can do about it now. But Harry." Perry poured everything he felt for Harry into his eyes and voice, desperate for Harry to believe him. "I don't blame _you_. Nothing has changed about the way I feel about you."

"Nothing?" It was barely a whisper. "You don't?"

"Do you blame me?"

"For what?"

"Selling my soul to Hollywood and all those clients who paid me to destroy a life?"

"You don't do that, Perry."

"I did – before I met you. Do you blame me? I certainly had a lot more choice in the matter than you did."

Harry frowned and shook his head. His eyes seemed to clear a little.

"Do you hate me?" Another shake of the head. "Well then, do you love me?"

"Do you think I'd want to fuck you if I didn't?"

"I've fucked a lot of men that I didn't love. More than I can count, in fact," Perry admitted. "Do you blame me for _that_?"

"How could I? So have I." Harry shook his head and furrowed his brow. "Women, I mean."

Perry smiled a bit at that. "You told me that I was the first man you've ever _wanted_ to sleep with." Harry nodded this time. "Well, you're the first man to make me _not_ want to fuck anyone else." Harry frowned again as he worked that out, but he almost smiled when he did. "I love you, Harry Lockhart, no matter what."

"Even when I miss the toilet?" Harry's mouth finally curved up into his own wry smile.

"Don't push your luck." Perry slapped Harry's cheek ever so slightly. Then he levered himself upright before reaching down to pull Harry to his feet. When they were both standing, Perry pulled Harry tightly into his arms and covered the smaller man's mouth with his own. Harry's hands, finding nothing to clutch on Perry's bare chest, splayed out over his pectorals. Instead, Harry levered himself up on his toes a bit to push himself into the kiss.

Breathless moments later, Perry pulled back from the kiss. He kept his hold on his lover strong, though, as he felt how much of Harry's weight he was supporting. "You alright, there, Chief?" he asked with a smile.

"You know, you're the first man I ever kissed," Harry told him, when he had caught his breath a bit.

"I had better fucking be the _last_ man you kiss, too!"

"Ugh," Harry shuddered.

"Ugh?"

"I just thought of kissing any man but you."

"Well then, don't even think of it!"

"Right."

"And Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"It doesn't have to hurt – the sex."

"I know – I mean, deep down, I know. It just gets hard to remember sometimes. But that wasn't the only thing I was afraid of." Harry shrugged, his mouth curved in a half-frown. "I guess I thought that if you fucked me, somehow, you'd _know_."

"Well, I know now and I still want to fuck you."

Harry's mouth curved upward again. "Now?"

Perry chuckled a little. "When you're ready."

Harry cocked his head to the side, his mouth quirking into one of its unique thinking positions. "When I'm ready," he repeated in a murmur.

"Now, go wash your face, Harry. You're a mess." Perry moved a hand to Harry's face again and rubbed a thumb under the other man's eyes.

"Actually," Harry said, picking off a piece of carpet lint that clung to his sweat-damp skin, "I think I'd like a shower." He looked back up at Perry, his smile full and inviting. "Join me?"

Perry felt a goofy smile begin to shape his mouth, but was just able to morph it into something more like a smirk. "In a heartbeat."


End file.
